Page 21 of Shadowed Bond

For one startled second, I forget to breathe.

Then I see it, on the other side of the water, a shadowy figure, tall and distorted, a form that I can’t place to any beast. It stands exactly where I had been moments ago, its shape flickering behind the wall Ares raised between us. A low snarl tears through the tunnel, sending a shiver running through me, and then it bolts back into the darkness.

I stare after it, my heart pounding.

“I did not sense that,” I murmur.

Ares’ eyes remain fixed on the tunnel, blazing silver. “Well, clearly the Deimos senses are superior.”

This time, the arrogance does not feel quite as unbearable, perhaps because he has just saved me. Or perhaps because his arm is still braced protectively beside my head, and his body has not yet moved away from mine.

I clear my throat. “Then I owe you a small thanks.”

His gaze drops to me.

A mistake.

Because now I notice how close his face is. The water wall throws shifting reflections across his features. His expression is hard, but beneath it there is a focus I do not quite know what to do with.

Then he suddenly steps back.

“And are we not going to kill it?” I ask, looking down the tunnel as I try to regain my composure.

“Not unless we want the whole place to collapse.”

The same thought reaches me just as the words leave his lips. He’s right. A fight down here could bring the entire tunnel down on top of us.

“Yeah,” I admit reluctantly. “I figured. Dumb question.”

“You are blond.”

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn to look at him.

“And what the hell are you?” I ask icily.

His hair is not brown. Not truly. Dark sandy blond at most.

“My hair is brown.”

“It is sandy blond.”

“It isn’t.”

“I would call it more blond than not,” I say, stepping towards him. “Do not insult me for being blond when you are one stormy mood away from being called golden blond.”

His mouth twitches. “Touché.”

“I am warning you, Westwood.”

“So calling you a dumb blond gets to you?” he taunts.

“Oh, you are such an arsehole.”

He lets out a low, throaty chuckle that settles somewhere irritatingly beneath my skin. It is infuriating how pleased he looks, as if annoying me is more satisfying than any actual victory.

“So the ice princess’s controlled façade can be broken,” he murmurs, leaning down slightly.